The Passing of the Crutch
by Sis21K
Summary: Crutchie set it in my hands, and for a moment we were connected by the worn wood of the crutch. "Remember what this crutch has gone through," he said softly, looking into my eyes.


**Hi! Wow, it's been so long! I apologize for not being active for the _longest_ time. I guess my only excuse is that I participated in NaNoWriMo, and managed to complete my novel of 50,000 words! This month has been extremely busy so I've hardly had any time to get onto FFN. I hope you all had a Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays. This is just a one-shot I felt I owed you all for no particular reason. Enjoy.**

It was snowing the night I got the crutch.

I didn't know what was real and what wasn't, but I knew one thing for sure. It was snowing.

The snow was white. It was tracked into the Lodging House on everyone's boots and melted into puddles of murky snow-water all over the floor. We tramped through it to sell our papes. Yeah, it was cold—and wet—but we had no choice.

Images swam in my mind, and I had to try to piece my memories together. Was falling off the roof real? I thought so. Why had I been up there? Was I looking for Jack? Jack, whose name I called feebly as I lay bleeding in the snow bank. I must have hit my head or something; I hadn't been able to move. I laid there for hours. My body got colder and colder. My voice got softer.

By the time the other newsies got back, I was only aware of the pain in my leg. It was surely broken. At first, the snow that engulfed it was soothing, but soon it started to burn. It's a funny thing, snow. It's so cold, it makes your skin tingle, but soon all I could feel was burning as the flakes kept falling, covering me. And then everything went numb, my leg first, and I knew I was done for.

As I floated in and out of consciousness, I heard my name being called. The newsies were worried. They ran in and out of the Lodging House looking for me, their boots stomping right by my head. If they would only look a few inches from the door, they would see my brown rags, covered in snow.

I wanted to sleep in my waking moments as I lay there. I knew I shouldn't, but I wanted to. I knew you could die if you lay in the snow too long, but I couldn't move. I lost all feeling in my body. The snowflakes landed softly on my eyelashes, slowly weighing them down as if tempting me never to open my eyes again. I feebly called the boys' names one by one. I couldn't hear my own voice. I couldn't feel my lips.

Then—a sharp blow to my head—and I was gone.

The pain in my leg was the only thing that remained constant between the nightmares and my waking moments. I saw visions of the newsies standing above me. I felt their worry, heard their frantic voices. I saw lights, heard the rustling of paper. The snow was there. Always the snow. I was warmer, but when the feeling began to return to my limbs, I cried out—it was as if my skin was burning.

I had a nightmare about a doctor who came with a saw. I heard gasps and whimpers from other boys, and a long, drawn out scream that seemed to be coming from my mouth but couldn't be, because I'd never made a sound like that in my life. I remember the fierce, splitting pain in my leg, just above the knee. I refused to believe it was real. Nothing could hurt that much while I was safe in bed in the Lodging House. They wouldn't let a doctor cut my leg off.

I was afraid when I finally woke for good, but soon I calmed myself. I kept my eyes open and looked around. They had moved me upstairs to a rarely-used section of the Lodging House. I heard laughs and shouts from downstairs. I tried to calculate how many days I must have been asleep and soon gave up. It had been a long time.

I lay there for a while, listening to their chatter and wondering if anyone would come to check on me. Had Christmas come and gone? It was mere days away when I'd fallen off the roof. Not everyone would have a gift, but those who did would feel very thankful. I wasn't expecting any gifts. I had only gotten one the year before because Jack had saved up all year to buy us each something small. I had been given four pieces of sugar candy, and I savored them. The last one didn't disappear until summer.

I heard low voices near the stairs. Jack and Crutchie. "If the kid hasn't woke up by now…I dunno if—"

"Go check, Jack."

I heard heavy steps on the stairs, and I saw Jack's head peek around the corner. I opened my mouth and found that I could speak. "Hey," I said softly, feeling the energy leak out of my body just from that one word.

There was a sharp intake of breath, and Jack grinned. "Hey! You're awake! You're awake!"

Crutchie couldn't have been far. I heard his foot and crutch hurrying up the stairs. "He's awake!" he yelled in confirmation when he saw me, prompting shouts and the thundering of feet as the newsies sprinted for the stairs. Did they really care about me that much? Was this another dream, soon to turn sinister?

Jack whirled around and had to yell to be heard. "Hey! Stay down! He's been out for who knows how long, he needs some space! We'll give you a full report!" Groans, but the newsies retreated. Jack hurried to my bed. "You okay? How's the leg?"

"All right, I guess," I croaked.

Jack glanced at Crutchie, and I guessed there was something I was missing.

"What's wrong?"

Crutchie limped over. "I dunno if you should…well…"

My heart started pounding. In a move that made my head feel like it was going to split, I sat up and pushed the covers back from my leg. Or what was left of it.

The nightmare was real. I hadn't been dreaming, and I wasn't dreaming now. My leg was gone, sawed off just above my knee, covered in slightly bloodied bandages. I fell back onto my pillow, refusing to react the way they expected me too. I just lay there. No tears. I figured I'd shed enough of those in my daze while the doctor—

"Jack, I'm gonna go get it."

"I'll change his bandages."

Jack grabbed a roll of bandages as white as the snow and slowly pulled off the bloody ones with one hand, keeping the other on my chest so I wouldn't sit up. I wasn't planning to. It hurt, yeah. But what choice did I have?

"It was broken," Jack said, confirming what I already knew. "Broken and bleeding. And you were in the snow so long, it got frostbit. It was turning black, kid." Jack seemed to be pleading for me to understand. "It couldn't be saved. It was a mess. You woulda died."

I nodded once to show that I got it. It was better to live with one leg than not to live at all, I knew that. I'd been around Crutchie long enough to know that. But it was harder now, harder to know that I was going to have to live with that.

Crutchie came back up just as Jack finished. I didn't look at him. Jack left, ruffling my hair on the way out. I heard rather than saw Crutchie approach the bed. "It was Christmas a couple days ago," he said.

"I'm sure I didn't miss much," I muttered.

There was a long moment of silence between us. I waited for him to break it.

"Is it too tough to sit up?" he asked. Of course it was tough. It just about made me go blind with pain in my head. But I struggled weakly upright, slumped against the wall. I pulled a pillow over to lean on. My pitiful stump of a leg stuck out from beneath the covers. I cringed and looked away. Not now. I didn't want to think about that now. How was I gonna sell? My selling spot was way on the other side of Manhattan. With one leg, I would be lucky to get there by noon.

Crutchie limped closer and slowly got down on his knees, pulling his crutch out from his arm to hold for balance. That's when I noticed that it wasn't his crutch. His crutch was used, well-worn, dirty rags hanging from the handle. But this crutch—it was a deep brown. Shiny, even. Smooth wood. A little taller, so he didn't have to lean to one side as much. He had a new crutch.

Crutchie noticed me looking and grinned. "Ain't it great? Jack and the boys all saved up for some nice wood, and Jack carved it himself." Apparently I had still been knocked out when that little plan was being executed.

"Where's your old one?" I asked faintly, my arm trembling from holding my body upright.

Crutchie's eyes sparkled. "It was time," he said, reaching over to grab something, "to pass the crutch."

There it was. Crutchie's old crutch, looking wonderfully familiar. He stood and stuck his new crutch back under his arm, then bowed his head and held out the old one to me with both hands.

My mind suddenly cleared, and my eyes widened. "You…you'se gonna give me…the crutch?"

Crutchie set it in my hands, and for a moment we were connected by the worn wood of the crutch.

"Remember what this crutch has gone through," he said softly, looking into my eyes. Images flashed through my mind, mostly happy—the crutch was always present, just a part of Crutchie—"Remember how it has helped me, and it's gonna help you." I remembered Crutchie slipping on the icy streets, stumbling in the snow, but the crutch was always there to steady him. And when he did fall, he just laughed and pulled himself back up. "But also remember what this crutch has done." I blinked—in my mind I heard Crutchie's cries of pain, pleas for help, as Snyder slammed the crutch down—how could Crutchie speak of his pain so calmly now?

"I don't know if I can take it, Crutchie," I whispered. "It's been yours for so long."

He let go, and for the first time I felt the weight of the crutch in my hands. "It's yours now," he said. He was serious. Crutchie was giving me his crutch. He laughed at the astonished look on my face. "It was getting too small for me anyway."

A half an hour later, after downing three dirty glasses of water, I felt so much better that Crutchie tentatively asked me if I wanted to try it out. I sat on the edge of my bed, holding the sacred crutch tightly. I slowly pulled myself to my feet—well, foot—feeling extremely dizzy. A moment later and I was back down on the bed. It took ten minutes before I was able to stay standing and limp around a bit. It was a frightening thing to get used to, only having one leg, and it was hard to balance. But by leaning heavily on the crutch, I made my way to the stairs and Crutchie helped me hop down to see the boys. It must have been a real sight, two crippled kids stumbling over each other down the stairs, crashing against the walls. We only had two good legs between us.

The first thing I heard was Jack groaning, "You shoulda asked me before you brought him down…he's gonna fall over!"

There were cheers and laughs as I got down the last step and tripped into the room. I caught myself with the crutch—already I was learning how to maneuver it.

Davey was near the stairs. "The poor guy's head is spinning!" he laughed, clamping a steadying hand on my shoulder. Crutchie groaned. Davey lead me to a bed, on which I collapsed exhaustedly.

I was soon surrounded by the newsies asking questions, making sure I wasn't going to black out, making careful comments about the crutch but avoiding the discussion of my stump of a leg. After a while I just ignored everybody, as my head really was spinning. The crutch—I couldn't bring myself to call it my crutch, not yet—rested against my knee.

It was gonna be hard, this new life with the crutch, yeah—but I would get through it. We always did.

 **Thanks for all your reviews, they make my day!**

 **-Sis21K**


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